“Not Yet”

Lately, I’ve been sitting in the quiet of unanswered prayers — or maybe more accurately, prayers that feel like they’re lingering in God’s inbox a little longer than I’d like.

If you know me at all, you know patience is not my natural strength. Waiting feels like wearing a pair of shoes two sizes too small: uncomfortable, blister-inducing, and something I try to kick off at the first chance I get.

But starting REC has placed me squarely in a season of “hurry up and wait.”

Hurry to file paperwork.
Hurry to submit forms.
Hurry to open accounts, build the website, and make phone calls.

And then…
Wait.

The biggest wait of all, the one that sits heavy in my chest, is land — a building, a space, a home for this vision God planted in me. I’m ready to leap. Truly. If He said “Go,” I would sell the house, buy the land, and pack the boxes before the sun came up tomorrow.

But instead, He keeps whispering the same quiet word to my heart:

Not yet.

And that—if I’m being honest—has been the hardest part.

There’s a particular challenge that comes in the in-between. It’s not grief. It’s not joy. It’s not fear. It’s something softer, slower… a stretching. A tension between what God has promised and what He has not yet revealed.

I’ve been reading back through the stories of Scripture, and I’m realizing that God does some of His most transformative work in the waiting places:

Between Egypt and the Promised Land.
Between anointing and kingship.
Between prayer and answer.
Between calling and commissioning.

The “time in between” isn’t wasted time — even though it feels like it. It’s preparation. Refining. Alignment. It’s where God grows roots deep enough to hold the weight of what’s coming next.

I don’t know why He hasn’t opened the door to land yet.

I don’t know why He is allowing this vision to be built piece by piece, pause by pause.

But I’m learning — slowly, imperfectly — that obedience doesn’t always mean movement. Sometimes obedience looks like staying still when everything in you wants to run ahead.

And maybe the waiting is part of the gift.

Because in the stillness, I’m remembering that REC isn’t my project. It’s His. It will happen in His timing, on His soil, for His purposes — not because I pushed hard enough, planned well enough, or hustled myself into exhaustion.

So for now, I wait.
Not passively, but prayerfully.
Not hopelessly, but expectantly.
Not with clenched fists, but with open hands.

And in this slow, stretched-out season, I’m asking God to shape my heart as much as He’s shaping this school.

One day, I know we’ll look back and see exactly why the “not yet” mattered.

Until then — with honesty and hope — I’m choosing to trust the One who both calls and completes.

With grace in the waiting, and grit in the in-between—

Kehla